


First Foot Forward

by CharliPetidei



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Body Worship, Comedy, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Light Bondage, Love, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Scars, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharliPetidei/pseuds/CharliPetidei
Summary: It's New Year's Eve, and after a raucous party at the Potters' house, Draco comes up with a plan for a sensual twist on an old Scottish Hogmanay tradition...
Relationships: Harry Potter/Oliver Wood, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 37
Collections: A Devious & Diverse New Year





	First Foot Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ADeviousDiverseNewYear](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ADeviousDiverseNewYear) collection. 



> This is my second finished Dramione, and I had so much fun with it!  
> My prompt was 'Hogmanay - Scotland', and I had the best time researching all the traditions to fit in! There was of course also the overall theme of body positivity, which I'm super passionate about and particularly wanted to highlight with regards to scars and body hair (topics that mean a lot to me!). And finally, because it's the Kinks of Knockturn Alley's fest after all: kink! I had some fun with some light bondage here, and couple of other things I'm not sure exactly how to categorise, but hope you enjoy all the same.  
> All the thanks in the world go to Leilah Moon for being a brilliant beta <3 You're a star!

“Last chance to run away, you know,” Hermione teased, throwing Draco a jesting glance over her shoulder. “Once they let us in, we can’t leave until past midnight.”

He scowled and drew his scarf tighter around himself, breath puffing out in clouds against the frigid wind. “I’m not letting Weasley win his bet.”

“What bet?”

“Well, Potter bet that I wouldn’t stay until midnight. And Weasley bet that I wouldn’t even come at all.”

“I see,” Hermione grinned, reaching out a mittened hand to squeeze her boyfriend’s arm. “And what did you bet?”

“That not only would I turn up, I’d drink them both under the table. And still be able to Apparate home afterwards.”

Laughing, Hermione drew him in for a kiss. There was something about New Year that reminded her of all the wonderful things she had in her life, and Draco’s name had been at the top of that list for quite some time now. His hand squeezed briefly at her hip, Hermione’s belly jolting pleasurably, and then he reached up to knock loudly on the huge wooden door in front of them.

It creaked open immediately, flooding Hermione and Draco with warmth and light and music so overwhelming that she could do nothing but blink dumbly for a few moments.

A face appeared in the hallway, and instantly split into a grin at the sight of them. “The Grangers are here!” Oliver shouted at the top of his lungs, and soon Harry came skidding into view beside him.

“For the last time, Wood,” grinned Draco, “I’m still a Malfoy until she” - he jerked a thumb in Hermione’s direction - “decides to propose.”

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. They’d been together for three years, so she was used to Draco making jokes like these, but she knew for a fact that he would never forgive her if she dared to propose first. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed.

“And for the last time, Malfoy, my name’s Potter now,” Oliver replied, pecking a kiss onto Harry’s cheek, who blushed happily.

“If you’re quite done making Draco covetous of your recent nuptials,” Hermione commented, “it’s bloody freezing out here.”

They all laughed. “Happy Hogmanay to you both,” said Oliver, and they were welcomed in with warm hugs for Hermione, and boisterous, back-clapping handshakes for Draco.

“Thanks so much for the invite,” said Hermione, as she and Draco divested themselves of the many hats and gloves they had brought in anticipation of the wintery walk from the Apparition point. “I’ve never been to a Scottish New Year’s before!”

“You’re in for a treat,” chuckled Harry. “Oliver and I are hoping to make this an annual tradition, provided it goes well and no one ends up in St Mungo’s.”

Oliver scoffed, adjusting his kilt. “If no one ends up in St Mungo’s, it’ll be a sorry excuse for a Hogmanay.”

“Does he have this attitude to everything?” Draco asked Harry quietly. “Or is it just reserved for drunken revelry and Quidditch?”

Hermione sniggered, Draco presented Harry with the bottle of wine they had brought with them, and the four of them made their way inside.

* * *

Oliver and Harry had moved into this house in Aberdeen at the start of the year, and the two Quidditch players had since spent every spare moment transforming it into the perfect home. Their slice of domestic bliss was shattered briefly when Andromeda Tonks passed away shortly after their wedding, and her grandson Teddy was left without a carer. Thankfully there was no question about where Teddy would go, because as his godfather, Harry was only too happy to take him in. Admittedly he and Oliver hadn’t expected to find themselves with a child so soon after getting married, but both of them had known Teddy since the day he was born, and so it didn’t take long for them to become accustomed to this new way of life. Soon after, they had thrown themselves once more into redecorating the place, and by the end of the year, their little family had a beautiful home to be proud of.

Despite the large size of the house, it was modest in decoration. Every room exuding the warm cosiness of the Gryffindor common room, with plenty of fireplaces, cushy armchairs, and soft carpets. And that night, the entire place was filled with music and laughter, with witches and wizards drinking and dancing in every room.

It felt like a massive Hogwarts reunion. Hermione even thought that she may have spotted the recently retired Pomona Sprout knocking back sherry in one room they passed, but by the time she went to nudge Draco, they had already passed by.

The kitchen was so full of people it was almost hard to move, but apparently not for Ginny, who came flying at them with three glasses of airborne Firewhiskey and a beaming Luna in tow. “You made it!” she squealed, thrusting a glass at Hermione and turning to face Draco. “Ron won’t be pleased. He’s losing three Galleons.”

“Don’t tell me you’re in on this bet too,” Hermione groaned, and Ginny laughed.

“Oh yes. She’s betting that you and Draco will have snuck off somewhere to shag by midnight,” Luna answered for her.

There was an outcry of horrified groans from everyone within hearing distance at this statement, and Harry rounded on Draco.

“If the two of you so much as _dare_ -”

“Oh look, Pansy’s here,” said Draco flippantly. Hermione tried not to laugh as he leant towards Ginny and whispered in her ear: “First couple to shag in Harry’s bathroom wins ten Galleons.”

“I heard that, Malfoy!” spluttered Harry.

Ignoring the Chosen One, Ginny stole a smouldering glance at Luna and grinned. “You’re on.”

* * *

Soon after, the lounge was cleared of furniture to make way for a Ceilidh dance. Hermione and Draco laughed and clapped as they watched everyone dance giddily, Lee Jordan acting as caller and leading them through the steps as the band played reel after reel. Eventually, under duress and the influence of several large glasses of wine, Draco was cajoled into joining in; and it was with a great deal of pride that Hermione led her boyfriend into the centre of the room to join the other dancers.

She knocked away the hands he tried to place on her hips and grasped them in front of her instead. His face pulled into a frown.

“It’s a Ceilidh dance,” Hermione reminded him. “We hold hands. Like this.”

“You mean I’m suffering public humiliation and I don’t even get to put my hands on your arse while I do it?”

She laughed and squeezed his hands. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

He leant in and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Fine, I’ll be good. But only until I get you alone,” he murmured, and Hermione shivered.

“I hope you’re not _really_ intending to defile the Potters’ bathroom,” she teased, and he rolled his eyes.

“Less of the defile,” he whispered. “More of the ‘make passionate love to the most beautiful witch of all time in.’”

Laughing despite the answering flare of heat at her core, Hermione leant up to give him a quick kiss and arranged the two of them in a more appropriate ceilidh pose in just enough time to hear the dance’s instructions.

“Are you ready to strip the willow?!” roared Lee Jordan, and the room erupted, some in cheers, some in laughter, and some in groans.

“Strip the _what_?!” hissed an alarmed Draco.

Angelina and George, the next pair in line, turned to grin at him. “You don’t know what you’ve let yourself in for, do you?” teased Angelina.

Draco blinked.

‘Stripping the willow’ (or at least this crowd’s version of it) turned out to be the most frenetic ‘dance’ Hermione had ever come across. No simple square dance, it instead consisted of taking it in turns to gallop down the middle of the long line of couples, alternating between swinging your partner and every individual of the line that you came face to face with, as fast as physically possible. It was a far cry from the restrained country dances Hermione had seen demonstrated in her pre-Hogwarts school days. And yet every time she returned from swinging with someone else to lock arms and start to spin with Draco, who was wearing equal joy and bemusement on his face, she couldn’t help but grin. She decided that it was possibly her new favourite dance.

When every couple had had their turn to spin down the centre, the folk band finally put their instruments down, and feeling decidedly queasy, all the dancers staggered back to the edges of the room, laughing uproariously.

“I can’t believe you didn’t warn me,” said Draco, and Hermione could do nothing but fall into his chest, laughing giddily.

“I love you,” she beamed, reaching up to kiss him. “Thank you for enduring that for me.”

He dropped another kiss to the crown of her head, beaming into her hair. “Any time.”

* * *

Aside from drinking and dancing, the other main star of the evening was the food. Great plates of it in fact, the kitchen table groaning under the weight. Hermione couldn’t stop herself going back again and again for more bread, more cheese, more meat – every single morsel of it was simply delicious.

Over loaded plates, chatter and laughter flourished. It was a classic excuse to catch up with one another, sharing stories and news of marriages, of children, of promotions. Ron and Lavender had brought their veritable clan of children along, who giggled and shrieked joyously as they ducked and weaved between legs, led by the rabblerouser himself: Teddy.

“Persephone’s definitely got a bit of Seer in her!” Lavender was proudly telling everyone who would listen. “She predicted our fifth!” she continued, gesturing excitedly to the tell-tale new bump under her dress.

Hermione was genuinely delighted for them, and decided not to point out that Ron and Lavender had been popping out babies at fairly regular intervals for the last six years, which meant that Persephone was probably no more insightful than anyone else in possession of a semi-accurate calendar.

Throughout the evening, Draco stuck close to Hermione’s side, a warm hand on her hip. She still felt just as lovestruck watching him chat and laugh with her friends now as she had done three years ago, and judging by the adoring glances he would steal at her while she was talking, he felt the same way. She loved the way he came alive in company, telling stories and jokes with the vivacity he used to show off in school, and yet still finding time to whisper loving (and occasionally salacious) words in her ear.

When midnight drew in, Hermione and Draco congregated with the rest of the party’s attendants in the main reception room, where Harry had shoved Oliver up onto a small platform, glass of champagne in hand. Harry stood behind him, proudly watching, little Teddy at his side.

“Good evening all!” said Oliver, and the responding cheer was almost deafening.

“Show us what’s under your kilt!” someone yelled, to raucous laughter.

Oliver fixed the heckler with a stern look. “What’s under my kilt is strictly between me and my husband.”

“-And anyone standing underneath his broom!” someone else called out, which derailed Oliver’s speech for a good few more minutes.

“Moving on!” cried Oliver eventually, when the whooping had died down. “Thank you all so, so much for coming. That is, to everyone except George Weasley, who should consider himself privileged for witnessing my flying earlier this evening.” George stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, and Hermione buried her face in Draco’s chest to muffle her laughter.

“Anyway!” said Oliver. “As you know, this is Harry, Teddy and I’s first Hogmanay here, and it means a hell of a lot that you’re all here to celebrate with us. So, we wanted to share with you a traditional Scottish custom – the first foot.”

Hermione’s ears figuratively pricked up, and she was stretching up onto her tiptoes before she was aware of having done so. Draco, who had spotted the tell-tale sign that she was listening intently for new information, grinned at her.

“For you English types who don’t know what that means,” continued Oliver, “the first foot is the first person to cross your threshold after midnight. And, depending on who it is, they can either bring you luck or misfortune for the coming year. Now, the ideal first foot is a tall man with dark hair-”

“Sexist!” protested Ginny, and Oliver looked abashed.

“I’m sorry Gin,” he said, “but it’s old Scots folklore. Any woman, or a man with light, or worse, red hair-”

“Oi!” roared at least fifteen assorted Weasleys.

“-may bring misfortune to the house for the year. And well, we’re not willing to risk any bad luck until the papers for us to _officially_ adopt Teddy come through successfully-”

The entire room erupted in cheers and shouts of congratulations, and Harry, who had clearly been waiting to break this news all night, was grinning from ear to ear. Draco squeezed Hermione’s hand, practically beaming.

“But I digress,” said Oliver, smiling so broadly that Hermione imagined his jaw would soon be aching. “To bring in the best luck and fortune for the coming year, I can think of no one better than my wonderful husband himself.”

Almost duck-footed with bashfulness, Harry sloped onto the platform next to his spouse, Teddy practically glowing behind them. Harry swept an embarrassed hand through his hair.

“You can’t be in the house when the clock strikes midnight, so we’re going to need you to clear off,” Oliver told him with a wink.

“You heard the man,” piped up Ron with a grin from the back of the room. “Piss off!”

“Alright, alright,” laughed Harry, raising his glass. “Cheers, everyone! And thank you for coming! See you in the New Year!”

“Cheers!” repeated the room, and with that, the band struck up and the air was once more filled with chatter and laughter.

Draco drew Hermione into his arms as the hustle and bustle resumed. He took an indulgent, lingering gaze at her body in the navy-blue dress he liked so much and kissed her cheek. “You look _incredible_ tonight,” he told her.

“You’re looking rather dashing yourself,” Hermione replied with a grin. “I think you look better without clothes though, just a personal preference.”

He smirked. “Just you wait until I get you home…”

“So much for being the first to christen Harry’s bathroom,” Hermione teased.

“Oh, that was a lost cause,” said Draco. “Ginny and Luna snuck off not five minutes after we made that bet.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open and she scanned the room, spotting the two women curled up together on a sofa in front of the fire. “They look so put together! How do they _do_ that-?”

Draco grinned. “That brings me to the other reason I didn’t drag you off to an upstairs room as soon as I could…”

Hermione thought she knew where this was going. “Why’s that?” she whispered, leaning in.

“Because when I’m finished with you tonight, you definitely won’t be fit to be seen in public.”

She smiled and stretched up languidly to meet him in a kiss. “I hope that’s a promise.”

They barely noticed when the countdown started.

* * *

“Happy New Year!”

Hermione and Draco broke apart, having successfully sealed the first few seconds of the new year with a kiss. He ran a gentle hand through her curls and she smiled, a familiar, rousing heat licking up her sides in response to his close gaze. “Home soon?” she said, smirking suggestively.

Draco’s eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the band struck up, the familiar tune of Auld Lang Syne filled the air, and they found themselves being grabbed and forced to join the raucous circle of joined hands, every single witch and wizard united in song.

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
And never brought to mind?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
And days of auld lang syne?_

_For auld lang syne, my dear  
For auld lang syne  
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet  
For days of auld lang syne._

Hermione couldn’t look away from Draco, couldn’t help but smile endlessly. It was incredible to consider where they had been, how far they had come together. And there was nothing quite like the end of a year to mark such changes.

When the song finished, and the two of them found themselves surrounded by people laughing and whooping, the doorbell rang.

“Believe me when I say I would absolutely love to drop everything and Apparate you into my bed right now,” said Hermione, “but I’m actually really curious about this. Do you mind if we stay for a while longer?”

Draco laughed. “Of course.”

Harry performed his role as first foot rather admirably. Stepping across the threshold and into the room of congregated guests with a delighted grin and a basket of goodies, he embraced Oliver and toasted the room at large.

“Happy New Year, everyone! It’s, er, customary for the first foot to bring gifts, and Oliver told me not to bother, but I wanted to, so I went and did my research-”

Hermione whooped loudly and there was a spattering of giggles. Draco grinned and tugged her in closer to his side.

“-thanks, Hermione. So, uh, here they are! Um, firstly, I bring coal.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the room went silent, every guest hanging onto Harry’s words. He looked simultaneously completely embarrassed, and yet completely earnest as he reached into his basket and nervously pulled forth a small lump of coal, proffering it to Oliver and Teddy.

“I bring you coal, for warmth.”

He then produced a bottle of whiskey. “I bring you a drink, for cheer and laughter. I also bring you a coin-” – a Galleon was revealed – “for prosperity.”

A small fruitcake – “For food.”

And a salt shaker. “For flavour.”

And at last: “Finally, I bring you a golden snitch.”

Oliver blinked at the untraditional gift in Harry’s outstretched hand, and Harry looked up at him, a gentle smile on his face. “To bring you aim, perception, and most important of all, excellent Quidditch scores for the year to come.”

The room erupted in cheers and Oliver, looking rather overcome, kissed his husband soundly on the mouth.

* * *

When they were ready to leave, Hermione and Draco bid goodnight to their hosts (hastily declining an invitation to the drunken 1 a.m. Quidditch game that Oliver insisted was a compulsory part of any Hogmanay celebration) and went to layer up before heading home. As Hermione pulled her woolly hat down over her protesting hair, she realised that she practically hadn’t stopped grinning all evening.

“What a fabulous night,” she said to Draco, who was pulling on the slightly-too-small pair of red gloves that she had gifted him the previous year. “Did you have fun?”

He dropped a fond kiss to the top of her head and handed her a scarf. “I did. Especially giving Ginny her bet winnings. The look on Potter and Weasley’s faces was more than worth those ten Galleons.”

Hermione giggled. “I _knew_ she was waiting to get Harry back for the time she walked in on him and Oliver in her living room-”

“Don’t say that,” said Draco, nervously. “She’s walked in on us too, remember, and I dread to think which room she’ll choose to get her revenge in when we move in together.”

Laughing, Hermione stepped into her boots. “Ready to go home?”

“When you say home…?”

“Back to mine. Obviously,” she grinned, taking his hand. “Come on.”

Snow had begun to fall gently outside, decorating the grass and the tips of Draco’s hair with flecks of white. It floated silently down as they walked hand-in-hand towards the Apparition point, and they took a few quiet moments to enjoy it before turning on the spot and reappearing much further south, outside the front door of Hermione’s cottage in Hertfordshire, the cottage that at some point that year would become home to the both of them. Hermione brushed the snow from Draco’s collar, now rather out of place in the county that had yet to see a single snowflake that month. He smiled softly at her.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing really. It’s - it’s silly.”

She nudged him, smiling. “Out with it.”

“I was thinking about the first foot. For your house.”

“Oh.” Hermione paused. “Why?”

“Well… This could be a big year for us, couldn’t it? And, well, I don’t want to bring bad luck to your home by being the first foot across your threshold,” he explained.

Hermione rounded on him, arms folding in immediate sternness. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean… wouldn’t you rather have someone else be your first foot? Didn’t Oliver say it needed to be a dark-haired man?”

Hermione took two deliberate steps towards him, tucking her fingers under the lapel of his coat and tugging slightly, once, twice. “If you think I’m going to turn you away in favour of someone else, purely based on some old Scots myth, you’ve got another think coming.”

He looked despairingly towards her front door. “But it wouldn’t be right. Your first foot _has_ to have dark hair. I’ll bring bad luck.”

“Draco,” said Hermione. He blinked at her, and she brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “I don’t _care_ what colour your hair is. Black, brown, blond, ginger…”

He pretended to shudder playfully and she rolled her eyes. “Listen to me.”

He nodded, sobering.

“Draco. There is _nothing_ that could bring me more joy, luck, and fortune than having the love of my life be my first guest of the year.”

She leant in to kiss him and could feel him smiling against her mouth.

“If you’re sure…”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Now, if you don’t get me inside and see to it that you follow through on what you’ve been promising me all evening-”

Draco kissed her fiercely at that, knuckles fisting in the fabric of her coat. “I will. I absolutely will,” he said, drawing back with reluctance. “But, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, give me a moment first. There’s something I want to do.”

She blinked at him. “…What?”

“I promise, it’ll be worth it. Why don’t you Apparate in, and I’ll be at your door in five minutes.”

“O-okay?”

“I’m going to be the best damn first foot you’ve ever _seen_ ,” declared Draco, and span on his heel before disappearing into the night air.

A smile quirked at the corner of Hermione’s mouth as she Apparated into her bedroom. Even all these years later, she should have known that Draco would try to find some way to one-up Harry Potter.

* * *

Hermione was so used to Draco having free access to her Floo that she was completely baffled for a moment when the doorbell rang. But with a self-conscious laugh and a smoothing-down of her dress, she went to answer the door.

Outside her doorstep in the cold night air stood Draco, dark woollen coat buttoned up to his chin, the misshapen, multicoloured scarf that Hermione had knitted for him two years ago wound around his neck. His cheeks were sporting a pink glow and his eyes crinkled with the smile that, even after all this time, still had the ability to knock Hermione off her feet. In his arms was a wicker basket that she recognised from the picnics of summers gone by. His hair was ruffled, his hat on crooked, and his nose was as pink as his cheeks in the cold, but Hermione didn’t think he’d ever looked more beautiful.

“Happy New Year,” she said warmly, and he leant in to kiss her once, beaming.

“Happy New Year,” he returned. “May I come in?”

She laughed. “Of course!”

Crinkling his nose, he took her hand and stepped over the threshold, the first and most important guest of the year.

She expected him to follow her into the lounge, but hadn’t expected to see him raise a wand to draw all the curtains and light a fire in the grate. It became clear that he had some sort of plan in mind, and considering the atmosphere he was creating in her living room, Hermione was beginning to realise what it may entail.

She had barely set foot into the room when Draco came up behind her, warm arms surrounding her and lips pressing kiss upon delicate kiss to her neck. She softened into him, one hand reaching up to curl into his hair, and felt the surface of her skin tingle and awaken with every brush of his lips. His fingernails trailed a heated path up the back of her neck and into her hair, and she rolled pleasurably, body curving into his.

“What have you brought me?” she whispered, turning to face him, her heart blooming at the sight of the look on his face.

His smile quirked and he took her hand almost chastely, leading her to the sofa. She reclined back against the cushions, unable to take the smile off her face, and he carried the wicker basket over to join her.

The room was silent apart from the crackle of the fire in the hearth and Draco’s soft footsteps on the carpet, but it wasn’t an oppressive, heavy silence. Instead it was warm, filled with heat and anticipation. Draco set the basket down and leant over to kiss her down into the cushions, and Hermione arched up to him, the contact fuelling a surge of joy and desire within her.

When Draco leant back they were both breathing heavily, wearing identical smiles. “I bring you gifts,” he said gently. He reached over to the basket and withdrew a single gold coin which he presented to her with a flourish.

“For prosperity,” he whispered, then tapped the coin with his wand.

Hermione watched as the coin collapsed in on itself as if melting, reforming into a simple gold chain with links so fine it was if it was made of ribbon instead of metal. Draco reached forward and fastened the necklace around her neck, pressing kisses to her collarbone, above which the necklace came to rest, glinting in the firelight against her skin.

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione said, tilting her chin up to meet him in another kiss.

“I’m not done,” teased Draco, and excitement thrummed up in Hermione’s chest as he shifted to gain access to the zipper of her dress.

A gentle nod from her, and he slowly, carefully drew it down, revealing acres and acres of beautiful, perfect, imperfect skin. Scars and freckles and blemishes from the years and the stories she had lived littered her body, but Hermione had never had to question for a second whether Draco minded. It was just one of the things that his love amplified about her own love for herself, and so it wasn’t with the slightest hint of self-consciousness that Hermione pulled at the hem of her dress and tugged it up and over her head.

She was naked now except for her favourite pair of satin knickers and the necklace shining in the hollow of her throat. “Merlin, I love your body,” Draco exhaled, as if it was an involuntary response, and he dipped down to kiss a path down her chest. His expression in moments like these was almost reverent, and it was as if the press of his hand at the back of her neck, and the drag of his tongue, and the lean of his chest against her shoulder, and every other miniscule pinpoint of contact between them was an ode to each line and swell and curve of her body.

Hermione watched as he leant back and turned his hands to his own shirt, slowly unbuttoning the front. The fireplace threw flickering illuminations and shadows over the shape of his chest, the parallel lines of the curse scars that intersected it shining as if golden in the firelight. She reached out to trace a loving line across one such scar, beginning at the side of his pectorals and slanting all the way over his collarbones and across the angle of his jaw. He shuddered at her touch, leaning into the grasp of her palm as it unfurled to cup the side of his face.

His slate-grey eyes flicked open after a moment and he smiled roguishly at her. “You need to stop distracting me,” he teased. “I’ve got a job to do.”

“By all means,” Hermione purred, leaning back suggestively again into the sofa.

Draco made a low noise in his throat, as if deciding between carrying on with the gift-giving and jumping her where she lay, but straightened up again and reached once more into the picnic basket.

“Next, I give you coal.”

Hermione reached out to take it, but Draco pulled it just out of her grasp with a devious smile. Another wand-tap, and Hermione watched as it changed form completely, becoming molten and writhing in his hands.

When it settled again, Hermione realised that she was looking at a band of simple black silk. “I don’t really think that’s coal anymore, technically,” she pointed out, but Draco shrugged.

“One organic material to another. It counts,” he grinned. “Either way, it still represents heat.”

“How’s that?”

“Because,” Draco said, lifting a leg and straddling her on the sofa. “Tying you up always gets you a little hot under the collar.”

“Oh,” breathed Hermione.

“Can I?” he asked carefully, as he always did, and she nodded enthusiastically, proffering her hands to him.

“Please,” she whispered.

And then Draco’s entire demeanour changed, expression and posture slipping into that smoother, sensual side of him that Hermione delighted in pulling him towards. His eyelids lowered, the shadow of a smirk ghosted at the corners of his lips, and his breathing intensified, his movements becoming slower, more deliberate. Hermione felt her heartbeat speed up in response and she tugged at his waist, pulling him closer.

He kissed her slowly, arching towards her like the string of a bow. The slight pressure of his legs either side of her waist kept Hermione held securely in place - not that she had any desire to move. She let her eyes slide shut so she could focus entirely on the feel of him, and waited in anticipation as he lifted her hands behind her head before wrapping the band of silk securely around her wrists.

The cool silk against her warmed skin made her shiver pleasantly, and the slight pressure of the bind was grounding, anchoring, like a lifeline reminding her to be present right there, right now. She liked how being tied down by Draco felt just as freeing as it was binding. Free to just _feel_. It was as if it intensified every sensation.

Her eyelids fluttered open and took in the sight of her boyfriend leaning over her, gazing down at her body in admiration. She arched her back invitingly, and he dove back again once more to kiss her. His mouth trailed over her jaw, across her neck, pressing a mix of soft kisses and gentle nips to every millimetre, sucking gently at the angle between her shoulder, and a pleasurable chill rode across Hermione’s whole body, shivering despite the warmth of the fire.

Every tiny soft hair on her body stood bolt upright in the frisson of pleasure, and her nipples hardened, aching upwards towards Draco’s mouth which soon came down to cover them in kisses. He sucked at one gently and Hermione felt her hands jerk against her bindings for the first time, an involuntary spasm that had him arching more determinedly into her.

His fingertips traced her skin in a familiar pattern that Hemione knew to be the lines of her stretch marks, little lightning bolts tracing up under the curves of her breasts. They glinted silver in the firelight, and Draco couldn’t help but press kiss after kiss against them as they led his mouth back home to her nipples.

When he pulled away, Hermione almost keened at the loss of contact, but as he slipped her knickers down to her ankles and began to reach once more into the basket on the floor, she felt a bolt of desire shoot through her, anxious to find out what was next.

“The next two gifts come together,” Draco said, and her eyes widened as she took in the small pinch of salt he held in one hand and the bottle of Firewhiskey in the other. “For flavour, and for cheer. And I guess…” he said slowly, “you could call this an inventive approach to body shots.”

The muscles of Hermione’s lower abdomen tensed in excitement, and she imagined she could smell her own arousal. Draco couldn’t seem to help himself from kissing her again before gently scattering a few grains of salt over her breasts.

And then Hermione watched, with dilated pupils and thighs pressed excitedly together, as he licked one nipple, then the other, the slight dig of the salt into her skin followed by the smooth swipe of Draco’s tongue. He lifted the bottle of Firewhiskey to his mouth, took a sip, and then leaned down to kiss her.

The honeyed liquid trickled across Hermione’s tongue as she kissed him back, and she felt as if she could just come right there, her clit untouched. Draco’s hands curled in her hair and she pulled him closer, thumbs pressing into the divots either side of his spine. When he paused to look back at her, a small droplet of Firewhiskey ran down across the side of her jaw and he dove back in to lick at it, following a path back once more to her lips. The pinch of salt, the sting of alcohol, but where was the sweetness to follow?

“We haven’t got-” Hermione began to say, and then Draco dove south, his tongue going instantly to her clit, and she screamed.

It choked out quickly, breathlessly, her wrists jerking rapturously against her bindings as he acquainted himself thoroughly with her sex, sucking gently at her clit, tongue exploring every inch of eager flesh. His fingernails dragged gently across her skin, this time through the triangle of soft dark curls at her crotch. She shivered again, unable to do anything but alternate between writhing in pleasure and watching Draco’s face as he kissed and sucked and licked, hands roaming over her thighs and hips and belly, through the dark hair that smelt like arousal, over her folds so delicately that her body jerked uncontrollably.

“You,” said Draco, alternating each word with a kiss to her inner thighs. “Taste. Incredible. And I fucking love _this_ ,” he added, with another trace of his fingertips through the dark hair that Hermione wore proudly, unashamedly, underneath her underwear.

She could do nothing but gasp and moan as he plunged once more into his task, every swipe of his tongue over her entrance overwhelmingly intimate, each suck against her clit making her cry out in pleasure. She came apart beneath him, wrists spasming against the silk tie, head thrown back, curls cascading over the arm of the sofa. She wanted him, needed him inside her desperately, and yet she could hardly bear to consider the loss of his mouth from where it felt quite so perfect, where it made her fall to pieces just so.

“Please,” she whimpered, almost incoherently. “Please, Draco, I need-”

He pinched her clit between a thumb and forefinger, rolling it with more force than before, and she cried out, arching off the sofa cushions as she shattered completely, waves of heat and pleasure rolling through her body like the flames that lit the room.

“Fuck,” she exhaled, and Draco surged up to kiss her, grinding down on her with an insistence that reminded Hermione there was still an untapped ache at her very centre.

“Good girl,” he murmured against her lips, and she squirmed underneath him, desperate for more. “Have you had enough?” he asked, and she shook her head feverishly.

“Never,” she whispered, and, as if that was exactly what he had been waiting for, he grasped at her thighs and lifted them slightly, greedily, wedging himself between her legs as if he couldn’t be held back any longer.

His cock was flushed and swollen to the very tip, so desperate for release, and when he rolled forwards to slide the head of it between her folds, Hermione shuddered in pleasure, pleasure that was as much his as it was hers. She bucked upwards and into him, forcing the pressure she so desperately craved, and he groaned with need. She watched him slide forwards, once, twice, and then, when her desperation to touch him became too much to bear, Hermione accidentally did something she tried never to do – she vanished the silk bindings around her wrists.

“Did you just-?”

Unable to feel even remotely embarrassed, Hermione slammed her hold either side of his hips and gripped him tightly, feeling like some mad, unchained thing; eyes wild and hair wilder. “ _Please_ , Draco, just fuck me.”

And then, like a dam bursting, every ounce of self-control and hesitation was shattered, and he drove into her all at once with a swiftness and fluidness that made them both cry out. And Hermione held her hands so tight against his waist that she felt every shudder and cry of pleasure as he buried himself deep inside her, possessed by something that wouldn’t let him up until he’d had his fill. She kissed him desperately, every rock of their joined bodies driving them onwards, onwards, gasping and panting and exclaiming in rapturous joy at the sensation of it all.

The ache in Hermione’s core had both dulled and sharpened at the same time, turning to a pool of molten metal that bubbled and leapt with every thrust of Draco’s cock against it, slamming her into incoherency yet again.

Her hand found purchase in his hair and she held on tight as he drove into her again and again, his pretty words and kisses well and truly transformed into nothing but open-mouthed noise and need against her neck.

She knew him so well by this time that she felt his peak as it approached, felt his body shake and his jaw drop, muscles contracting and eyes widening as if in shock, but she knew better. “That’s it, love,” she whispered, breathless and ineloquent. “Come on, come for me-”

And he jerked against her, panting against her forehead as instinct took over, pouring himself into her as she clutched him tightly and rode with him, hips moving in tandem and chest heaving as he slowed into stillness.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he gasped, and it was only a short pause as he repositioned himself until his fingers were back down there again, the shock of it almost sending her tumbling onto the floor. Draco drew relentless, urgent circles against her clit, still panting into her neck, and Hermione’s legs clenched so hard they shook from the force. It was only a matter of moments until her molten core imploded, the heat and the pressure and the pleasure coming together in a kind of starburst that had her seeing nothing but white until she came back down to earth.

They both lay there for a while, panting and fuzzy with the afterglow, and Draco drew her body to him, cradling her like the most precious of things. The fire crackled on, bathing them both in golden light. They were sweaty, and slick, and breathless, but it felt to Hermione like the most perfect start possible to a brand new year.

“Happy New Year, gorgeous,” she murmured happily, and he laughed.

“Happy New Year, beautiful.”

She stretched indulgently before realising quite suddenly that there was something still in Draco’s picnic basket. Frowning in puzzlement, she leaned over and fished out a small package, which upon closer inspection, turned out to be a box of shortbread.

She turned to her boyfriend with a bemused expression. “What’s this for?”

Draco started as if he had forgotten it was there, then grinned impishly. “It’s for when you get peckish.” She frowned at him, and he flushed slightly. “It’s just…” he said. “I know how hungry you get after sex.”

She gaped. And then: “God, I love you.”

And she dove at him once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 2021 everyone, thank you for reading!


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